Rowing Camp: An Experience in Precipitation

A handful of novice rowers were invited to the training camp for the development squad. Three full days out on the water in the middle of a relatively mild English winter. How bad could it be? Well we woke up at 5:45 on the first morning to gently falling snow. Normally I would be thrilled about that but it didn't bode well for a day on the river. The stretch of river near Oxford is narrow and windy, with only a short channel that is navigable by boats so we were to row at Reading, which is about an hour away. We walked 30 minutes in the dark and snow to get to the boat house, rowed across the river, then disassembled the boat and put it on a trailer before walking back to get the cars. Unfortunately the snow melted as soon as it landed so everything and everyone ended up wet. By the time we drove to Reading, the snow had stopped but reassembling a boat with dozens of nuts and bolts when your fingers are numb with cold isn't particularly pleasant. Or productive.

When we finally got on the river everyone was freezing and two hours of technical drills didn't improve anyone's spirits. The two coxes, who are both males, keep up a constant banter, whether it is at dinner or using their microphones to shout insults across the river. The jibes aren't particularly clever and it seems incredibly immature to constantly make themselves the center of attention. But I'm a lowly novice rower so I'm endeavoring to bite my tongue and hide my annoyance. Good practice for me. One of them is quite officious which is irritating. If someone in a group is going to be officious, I prefer for it to be me.

The senior girls have a beautiful new racing shell named Shakira (the last one was named Brittany so I'm sure you can see the trend). And it is a definite upgrade over Joan and Carol.  But, like all divas, she's a bit temperamental so keeping her level in the water is a constant struggle. And she still weighs several hundred pounds so getting her in an out of the water is a considerable feat. At reading, the docks were lined with landmines of goose poop the size of cow pies.

We were all so tired of being cold that we turned the water on scalding hot when we finally got in the showers and the steam must have triggered the locker room fire alarm. We deliberated and decided that we would wait and let the fire marshal drag us out. Alternatively, burning alive would be far better than freezing to death in our towels outside.

Photo courtesy of Puffett Foto

On day two we were sparred the rigging process but it started raining just as we went out on the water and the temperatures were hovering around freezing. I don’t think I have ever worn so many pieces of clothing at once. Fortunately the skies soon cleared and the sun peaked out a bit in the afternoon. When we weren’t on the river or gasping for breath in the erg room, several of the crew took to bursting into song. Show tunes, Christmas carols, and bad pop songs. You name it, they probable sang it. It was like living in an episode of Glee. Amusing and exasperating all at the same time. Everyone was sleeping over at one of the girls houses and that is a lot of team bonding time.

The training was a great experience, and definitely improved my rowing, but by the third day I was ready for it to be over. Despite frost and icy docks, the weather held through Sunday. We got really lucky to have fairly decent conditions but a hailstorm caught up with us just as we were rerigging the boats in Oxford. The weather gods wanted to make sure we experienced the full spectrum of precipitation. 

Arrivederci

Today's itinerary included the catacombs, Palatine hill and exploring the shopping district. We were the only people on the English tour of the catacombs and our guide, Father Anthony, had a heavy Indian accent so I just smiled and nodded most of the time. He kept quizzing us on the meaning of different iconography and religious trivia. My grandma would be ashamed of my performance- couldn't remember who St. Cecelia was, didn't know that the anchor was a religious symbol and couldn't tell the difference between shards of oil lamps and perfume jars. Father Anthony was particularly disappointed that I couldn't read Greek. Apparently US schools are failing in more ways that we realise, and that includes the numerous Catholic schools I attended. However, I was incredibly proud to have figured out how to use the bus system, in a foreign language no less. It was a major accomplishment for a suburban kid.

For lunch we went back to the Trastevere neighbourhood and found a little trattoria that looked inviting. In the spirit of trying as many classic Italian dishes as possible, I ordered homemade lasagne. I'm not a big lasagne person but this was the best I have ever had.  Then we trekked back into the city center for more exploring. Palatine Hill  is thought to be the site where Rome was founded and was the home for many emperors and wealthy citizens. It had stunning views of the city and the buildings were impressively well preserved (which is to say that a number of them were still standing and largely intact.) Then we revisited the Trevi Fountain and Spanish Steps and explored the shopping district along the way. The two high end streets that are Rome's version of Rodeo Drive were literally lined with a red carpet and chandelier style Christmas lights. Gucci, Versace and Louis Vuitton aren't really my style but it's always nice to see how the other half lives and reaffirm that it doesn't have any appeal.

Lonely Planet restaurant recommendations seem to favor places that are way off the beaten path and have taken us down a number of suspicious looking back alleys. Tonight was no exception. After winding through back roads for 20 minutes we finally find the place but there isn't a soul in sight and we spend several minutes casing the place out and trying to decide if it is open. Then someone comes charging out the door with a garbage bag in hand and practically knocks us over. We ask when they open and he says now so we go inside only to be shown to a table and then told in Italian that they don't serve until 6:30 (it's barely 6:00). Unsure of how to exit gracefully we begin discussing escape routes that will avoid undue embarrassment. Caroline obviously wants to leave but seems unwilling to make the first move. So after 10 minutes of being studiously ignored I just get up and walk out. I think I was half expecting someone to stop us and we had to resist the urge to run giggling down the alleyway. I've never dined and ditched but somehow ditching without dining seems even worse. Maybe it's not as amusing in writing.

After our awkward experience and perhaps motivated by the fact that we have been the only customers in a restaurant on at least four occasions this trip, we settled for an unoriginal but bustling restaurant in one of the major piazzas. As this was our last night in Rome, I of course ordered the fettuccini alfredo. (For those of you who havent heard my grandma tell the story at least three times before, homemade  fettuccini is the dinner I always request on my birthday. Ten years ago when I was in Rome, we went to a restaurant that claims to have invented fettuccini so of course it's obvious what I ordered. When the head waited asked me what I thought of it, I told him my mom's was better. Honest to a fault even then.) This time it came with mushrooms, ham and peas. It was good but too rich. Mom's is still the best.

For a series of complicated and convoluted reasons, Florence and Pisa have been axed from the itinerary and we fly out of Rome this afternoon. Florence, Pisa and Venice will just have to be a separate trip. But the timing couldn't be better. I'm officially tired of Italian food, am inordinately thrilled to be going back to Oxford and can't wait to touch down at San Diego International Airport in T-minus seven days.

The Eternal City

I think a few days in the gritty urban sprawl of Naples really primed us to appreciate the classic elegance that is Rome. While Naples has its churches and castles, this is a city that reflects the conscious design of emperors, popes and leading artists intent in conveying power and grandeur. Our first time of business was a circuitous walking tour past all the major attractions in central Rome. The sidewalks are wide, clean and exceptionally well lit and it's refreshing not to be harassed by scooters. You hear about the labyrinth of streets the taxi drivers have to master but it is not nearly as bad as I expected. We walked for hours with nothing but a cheap tourist map and didn't get turned around once. It helps that the streets here are actually labeled- on the map and with signs. We waded through tourists at the Piazza del Popolo and Piazza di Spagna, cruised past the Spanish steps, made a wish at the Trevi Fountain, gapped at Ill Vittorio, puzzled over the scattered stone ruins at the Roman Forum and admired the imposing fascade of the Colosseum. The graffiti of Naples made me appreciate how exceptionally well maintained the Roman sites are, although the Colosseum could use a power wash. And the Trevi Fountian is one of those rare sites that is more impressive in person than I had imagined. For dinner we crossed the Isola Tiberina, the oldest bridge in Rome.The strings of blue and white lights hung across the roads in a series of inverted arches made the city seem inviting at night. This restaurant district called the Trastevere is a series of family-run trattorias and pizzerias spilling out into densely packed streets. We rested our exhausted feet while sampling the gnocchi and then crossed back over the Tiber to find desert near the Piazza Navona.  The elongated plaza had been concerted into a holiday carnival complete with rides, fried food and ornament vendors. But we found some traditional Italian gellato to round out a successful introduction to Rome.

Sunday started with a nice run through the Villa Borghese  followed by a hearty breakfast at the Beehive Cafe- a classy American establishment located in our hostel. Then we were off to the Vatican for mass at St. Peter's Basillica. The church is awesome in the most literal sense of the word- the cavernous space, imposing dome and incredible attention to artistic detail are more than I can comprehend. Sistine Chapel was closed (should have guessed that The Creation of Adam would be given a respite from viewing on God's day or rest) but the trek to the Vatican Museums wasn't wholly unproductive- it's not everyday you walk half way around a state.

By the time we walked back to central Rome our feet were revolting and a sudden downpour provided an excuse to duck into the nearest restaurant. Unbenounced to us,  we should have tarried outside because the Pizzeria la Montecarlo doesn't provide menus other than the one posted outside the door. Suddey the waiter demanded our order. I figured when in doubt order pizza. Ladies beside us (European style seating- our tables were literally touching and my chair was abutting that of the person behind me) insisted that we order the fried appetiser platter. When we asked what was in it she replied (perhaps for lack of English vocabulary) "Roman stuff." Well, when in Rome... The bowl had an assortment of items that were indistinguishable apart from the varying shapes. When ours finally arrived we took turns cutting into each one and sampling the contents- one was definitely stuffed olives and another was mozzarella. The other two were tasty but we had to wait until we got back outside and got a look at the menu before we knew what they were- fried zucchini flowers and suppli- balls of rice, mozzarella and marinara sauce. To my taste, even frying can't make olives palatable but everything else was quite good. The pizza was enormous but I'm not yet a fan of the incredibly thin crust of Roman style  pizza. But experimenting was all part of the culinary adventure and after all this journey seems to be first and foremost about the food.

For dinner we consulted the Oracle yet again (our nickname for the Lonely Planet guidebook- much more convenient to pull it out of my bag every five minutes than doing as the Romans did and travelling to Delphi and making a sacrifice each time we have a question.) We decided on Insalata Ricca, known for hearty pasta and meal- sized salads. I figured the Californians have the upper hand in the salad department so I stuck with pasta and ordered Orecchiette (disk-shaped pasta) with broccoli and garlic. The broccoli florets has disintegrated giving it a creamy texture and the stalks were in cubes. Dinner of course was followed by gelato from a back alley gelateria. After pouring over the recommendations from the Oracle we settled on the estaishment  favored by Pope John Paul II. Allegedly he used to have tubs of his favourite flavor, marrons glacé (glacé chestnuts) flown out to his summer residence.

In between eating we did manage to do some sight seeing. We walked up Michelangelo's ramped steps at the Campidoglio- the grade is so steep that it's no wonder this invention didn't take off. Maybe it would have enabled a carriage to be pulled up to the steps of the palaces. Ht only if you had a very strong horse and didn't mind dislodging all the occupants of the carriage. Then we swung back by the Colosseum and spent a few minutes laughing at some camera-ready Roman legionarres (not to be confused with gladiators) goofing off in front of the entrance. One kept thumping his sword against breast plate and lining up camera angles like he was the next Steven Spielberg. But eventually we broke down and got a picture of our own. I think I will get it framed side by side with a similar picture from my trip to Rome- a symbol of my maturation and the enduring nature of the Eternal City.

"Et tu, Brute?"

"Rome, a lifetime is not enough."

Sensory overload. That's how I would describe Rome. The hundreds of monuments that span from imperial to medieval  and Renaissance are simply overwhelming. It is at turns chaotic and coordinated, exhilarating and exasperating. Although I was here ten years ago with my parents, touring it as an adult was like seeing it for the first time.

Of all the beautiful places I have visited in the last week, this is the only one where I can see myself living. If I wasn't already studying abroad, I would want to come here. And I think one has to be a resident of Rome (for at least a few months) to appreciate everything that it has to offer. Granted, in a matter of three hours we walked to most of the major historic sites. But the whirlwind tour merely entailed gapping at a series of imposing stone structures. The richness of the history and art simply overwhelmes the senses.

To know Rome you would need to savour each piazza, fountain and basilica individually. The rich detail and history of the Roman Forum alone are enough to keep you engaged for days on end. And maybe that's the mark of a great city; it can't be seen in a day or a week- that's when you make it's acquaintance but, you need to develop a relationship with it.  The city of Rome seems like a community- an outsider can admire it but only an insider can appreciate it. With a community, you need to get to know each individual in the group- learn about their history, their passions, their sorrows and their talents. Then you need to learn how the individuals are interwoven by shared history and intertwined by relationships. Rome was the site where successive empires overlaid one another, artistic movements clashed and religions vied for influence. To understand any monument you would need to appreciate the complicated context and then see the details and styles that elevate a church from a mere place of worship into an artistic masterpiece.

But most of us don't have this awareness- we are like a gaggle of tourist starring at Einstein's theory of relativity. We know it's impressive because the textbooks said so but we would be hard pressed to articulate why. Yet instead of pleading ignorance everyone wanders around oohing and ahhing and taking pictures to impress their friends. Because that's what sophisticated people do- they travel  around as if traversing the same ground as Caesar and Michelangelo would make them more cultured or sitting in the same basilica as the Pope and the tomb of St. Peter would make them more holy. But it doesn't work that way- these aren't traits we learn from osmosis, they are qualities we gain from application.

This is all probably a long winded way of saying that I have become disenchanted with my camera and am frustrated by my superficial exposure to a city that obviously has so much more richness to offer. So for the moment I am going to adopt a paradigm shift. Perhaps I need to accept that most of us travel for enjoyment, to get a break from our hectic lives, and to enjoy the company of those we care about. Maybe enrichment doesn't have to come from developing new expertise, maybe it comes from experiencing beautiful moments, even when we can't articulate what beauty is. 

The Amalfi Coast

Today we were off to the Amalfi Coast, a 50km stretch of coastline just south of Naples, known for vertical cliff faces dropping into gorgeous blue water, with idyllic little towns nestled into the hillsides. The bus ride wound deep into the mountains behind Naples on circuitous roads that looked too narrow to accomodate two lanes of traffic. Our driver cursed vigorously, smoked inside the bus and stopped inexplicably for twenty minutes to read his newspaper. Most of the time Caroline and I has no idea where we were but hoped the reputedly jaw dropping views of Amalfi would let us know when to disembark. Eventually we emerged from the tree line and began a steep descent down a perilous strip of asphalt fraught with blind hairpin turns. The bus driver blared the horn the whole way down in the hopes that oncoming cars would get out of the way before we flattened them but there were several instances that were too close for comfort. So we perched on the edge of our seats and distracted ourselves by marvelling at the little vineyards on terraces cleaved out of the cliffside and the colourful stucco neighbourhoods tucked in at the water's edge.

Eventually the bus came to a stop in a picturesque little piazza and we tumbled out into the dazzling afternoon sunshine of Amalfi. We wandered out onto the jetti for a better view of the town and outlying areas. Overcome with enthusiasm for the sun and the view, we scurried down to the beach to dip our toes in the Mediterranean. However, the rich aquamarine color was deceptively inviting as the water was quite chilly. Hunger soon called us back to the town center and we set off in search of lunch. At the heart of Amalfi lies a charming little piazza with a 10th century cathedral and a series of boutiques, caffes and gelato shops that spill outwards onto radiating streets. Most of the quaint little shops were selling lemon themed products- soap, candies, biscotti, and a potent little beverage with 35% alcohol content that the locals use as a palate cleanser. After a painstakingly thorough reconnaissance of all the local pizzerias we settled on a classy little joint with an amazing sausage and broccoli pizza. By the time we finished, it was time to catch a bus back to Naples. The journey back was equally perilous and twice as long. But the redeeming element was a brief drive through Sorrento, another charming coastal town, but much larger than Amalfi. The orderly streets, bustling restaurants and tasteful Christmas decorations suggest that it would make a classy alternative to staying in Naples if I ever come back to visit southern Italy. 

Naples and Pompeii

"Raucous, polluted, unruly, anarchic, deafening and with so many of its majestic historical buildings crumbling, Naples has at least as much in common with Casablanca in Morocco or Egypt's Alexandria on the other side of the Mediterranean as with fellow Mediterranean ports such as Genoa, Marseilles or Barcelona. And like the cities on the other side of the pond, it's glued together by the sheer zest and vitality of its inhabitants." -Lonely Planet's guidebook to Italy

After 36 hours of travelling the dingy streets of Naples were an anticlimactic welcome. From the street, the Hostel of the Sun looked anything but sunny. It is in a tired looking high rise and up seven flights of stairs. But once you open the postcard covered door you discover a traveler's oasis with great character and incredible attention to detail. Everyone is assigned a locker, it boasts free wireless Internet and two guest computers, and comes complete with a complimentary breakfast. English is the main language and the guests are young, hip and mostly American. The receptionist was eager to offer tips on the best pizza joints and draw up a map for a walking tour.

With daylight fading fast we headed straight for the heart of the city. The many churches were closed off by wrought iron gates, hemmed in by crumbling apartments and the stonework covered by graffiti.  Apparently, that which is common isn't valued. As we walked on it became clear that this phenomenon wasn't unique to one neighbourhood. Throughout Naples The aisles of history have been converted into grungy bazaars with vendors hawking cheap trinkets and candy. With every step we were harassed by dare devils on vespas. Obviously it was unclear to everyone where the street ended and the sidewalk began.

Despite this, the city does have a certain gritty charm. The people are energetic and outgoing and the streets buzz with activity. Most importantly there is no pretense- the streets are grungy but Naples embraces this. Its historic sites may be worse for wear but it is almost as if the city is saying, this is our history but it is also part of our present and rather than exalt it on a pedestal or lock it away in a glass  box, we are going to imbue it with our current character, dilapidated and dysfunctional as that may be. It's not a style that I would pick for my hometown, but it's one I can appreciate.

Still, after several hours of wading through clouds of cigarette smoke, fending off over eager salesmen and weaving through throngs of people, I was ravenously hungry and ready to clothesline the next scooter driver who honked at me. Fortunately for the motorists, we happened upon Pizzaria de Michelle just in time. I recalled that Lonely Planet rates it the best pizza in Italy and we immediately darted inside. The walls are covered with life size portraits of Italian grandmothers but a photo of Julia Roberts sinking her teeth into the pizza hangs discreetly near the open pizza oven. Apparently Elizabeth Gilbert of Eat, Pray, Love gives it two thumbs up and the movie filmed a scene here. This pie isn't for the true cheese lovers (although you can order double mozzarella) and it only comes in two variations- margherita and marinara. But the flavour is fabulous- the lightly singed crust manages to be both crispy and doughy, the marinara sauce tastes like tomatoes dress from the vine and the delicate seeds speckle the pizza. It was a thoroughly satisfying end to a hectic day.


This morning we took a day trip to Pompeii- Roman city that was permanently evacuated when Mt. Vesuvius erupted in 79AD. The buildings and artifacts have been remarkably well preserved by several meters of volcanic ash. Archaeologists estimate that about 2,000 of the 20,000 inhabitants of Pompeii were killed when the weight of the ash caused buildings to collapse or they inhaled the noxious volcanic gases. Their corpses, contorted in the throes of agonising deaths have been reconstructed from plasters molds poured into the ash. The sprawling city measures 30 acres and most of the buildings have been partially preserved, including delicate fresco paintings, wine jars and intricate stone work. We spent several hours meandering through the streets, singing in the amphitheater, sword fighting in the antitheater (miniature Coliseum) and wandering around the ancient market. The empty streets exude the feeling of a ghost town, but while its former occupants have been gone for almost two millenniums there is a unique immediacy about their shadows. It's obvious that many of them rushed out in the midst of their midday meal and you feel a bit like an intruder poking about in someone else's living room when they might come back in and startle you at any moment.

Vesuvius remains an active volcano and just as Los Angeles sits on a precarious earthquake fault line, the densely populated center of modern Naples lies in the shadow of Vesuvius. You have to wonder if we are tempting fate. 

Split to Ancona

Idling away time before our bus ride, we passed by a bistro where an old man offered to buy us coffee. His name was Salvo and he owns a hostel, speaks excellent English and makes a hobby of striking up conversations with tourists. He talked of living in Dubrovnik as a child during World War II when Italian soldiers occupied the city and he occasionally snuck into town in the hopes that they would pass him bits of food. He spent 25 years in the shipping industry and from the sounds of it, he has seen as much of the US as I have- Galvaston, Baton Rouge, San Diego, Long Beach, Oakland, Boston, Philadelphia, etc. The 1991 war wasn't a topic he seemed interested in discussing but he spoke casually of the violence and hunger like a man who has seen more than his share of conflict.  I couldn't tell if he was being flippant but he suggested that in ten years Croatia could find itself at war again.  And yet he seemed to approach each day with verve and enthusiastically pointed us to our bus and offered recommendations of accommodations in Split.

The bus ride offered stirring views of the Croatian coastline and after a brief rainstorm the sun peered out through a net of clouds. Like everywhere else in Croatia, Rhianna, Taylor Swift, Shakira, Aretha Franklin, Michael Jackson and other American icons provided the soundtrack.  But bus rides also tend to traverse the more desperate areas of a country. We saw the parts of Croatia not advertised in the travel brochures- the fifteen story cinder block apartments, town gutted by civil war and the ruins of industry. By the time we arrived in Split at 2:30 the sun was fading fast and we rushed off to see the city before we lost the light.

Diocletian's Palace was built in the 4th century as a retirement home for the Roman emperor Diocletian. Now the 200 some buildings within its fortified walls are home to several thousand people and have been converted to shops and restaurants. Remnants of the imported Italian marble, Greek columns and Egyptian sphinxes are still visible. Although its ironic to see trash heaps, graffiti and clothes lines adorning the once opulent structures. Over the centuries the Temple of Jupiter was converted into a baptistery and a Christian symbol marks the doorway of what was once a pagan site of worship is visible example of religious syncretism at work.

Sphinxes are known for being treacherous and merciless- not sure what this says about me

It may be a coincidence or it may be a genuine atmospheric trend but it seems as though a downpour always follows the sunset here and this time we were caught outside. We rushed to the ferry terminal and bided our time in a gritty smoke filled coffee shop. When we finally border the ferry it seemed to have more cargo trucks than passengers. Most of the guests rented cabins so there were only about four people in the room with airplane style seating designed to accommodate closer to 150. After a long night of shivering in the cold and fidgeting to find a comfortable position we woke to the sounds of the engines down shifting  to see dawn breaking over Ancona. Now off to Naples for the three P's: pizza, pasta and Pompeii!

A Second Look at Dubrovnik

Last night was my first taste of Bosnian food. Acting on the recommendation of our Croatian landlord we combed through the side streets of Dubrovnik until we found the Taj Mahal. The restaurant had a charming ambiance with hand carved wooden tables, woven placemats, low hanging lanterns and regional artwork. Caroline and I both decided to try the cevapi, which is small, grilled rolls of minced beef in a half pita bread (with the taste and texture of Ciabatta), served with chopped onions and something akin to a cross between cream cheese and butter. It was surprisingly good, although the aftertaste of onions continued to remind me of the meal for many hours. After dinner we sat outside the gates of the old city looking out over the harbor. Occasionally the moon peaked through the cloud cover, bathing the scene in dim light. The rhythmic clanking of sailboat rigging against the masts kept time as we whiled away an hour discussing families, fortunes and futures.

This morning we went for a run along the coast- it was mostly uphill on narrow sidewalks lined with old couples who looked ready to wallop us with purses or canes if we brushed too close. There wasn't a single other jogger or biker to be seen. We spent the rest of the day wandering through the side streets we had yet to explore. Despite a slow Sunday, the city was suddenly teeming with tourists. One of the squares had been converted into an outdoor market with fresh lavender, candied almonds, dried oranges and local crafts. The resident pigeons seemed to be genuinely alarmed each time the church bells sounded (which seemed to happen every five minutes) and dive bombed from their perches atop the surrounding buildings down into the center of the square. One five year old boy delighted in chasing them around and droves of them took flight again as helpless shoppers ducked or covered their faces to protect against the thrashing wings.

We retreated from the melee and journeyed deeper into the recesses of the city where we had only the menagerie of stray cats for company. Eventually we came upon an aperture in the city's outer wall that opened suddenly onto a rocky outcropping overlooking the sea. It was a gusty day and the churning water was flecked with whitecaps. We spent close to an hour mesmerized as the waves buffeted the sea wall. Again and again they pummeled the jagged rocks, sending up plumes of foam, like a massive champagne bottle coming uncorked. In the aftermath of the salty explosions, the water retreated again in a mix of froth and aquamarine sea. It was too cloudy for a proper sunset but the rain began misting down just as the last flecks of gold slipped down the hazy horizon and we slipped back through the wall in search of a hot meal.

Tomorrow we will say goodbye to Dubrovnik and take a bus to Split for a whirlwind tour of Diocletian's Palace before catching an overnight ferry across the Adriatic to Ancona. From there we will catch a train to Naples on the otherwise of the Italian peninsula.  Once we leave our cozy Croatian apartment, I'm not sure how much wi-fi access I will have, but I will try to post updates about pizza, pasta and Pompeii as often as possible. 

The Pearl of the Adriatic

Coming to Dubrovnik in the dead of winter may have been an ill-fated decision. It is far enough north that jackets are required attire and the sun seems to be vacationing elsewhere. Many of the shops and restaurants are closed for the season and the streets are noticeably devoid of the photo-snapping tourists who must clog the narrow alleyways all summer long. The usual kayaking, boat tours, snorkeling, swimming and sun bathing that make Dubrovnik one of the fastest growing tourist destinations and earned it the title "an oasis of civilization" are all out of the question. And yet the city's unique cultural, historical and architectural heritage continue to shine through.

Dubrovnik has long been an important center of maritime commerce in the Mediterranean trade network and perhaps the most significant hub on the Adriatic. Surviving the variances of the Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman and Napoleonic empires, Dubrovnik has constantly been sought after as an important link between Mediterranean and Balkan states. Over the years it has enhanced its fortifications to protect trade from barbarian raiders and the old city is entirely walled off  by a series of fortifications that date to the sixteenth century. Many of the Venetian era buildings and Romanesque structures were destroyed by the great earthquake of 1667 or the civil wars that wracked the former Yugoslavia in 1991 and 1992 (68% of the old town buildings were damaged by shells), but Dubrovnik has always rebuilt with a conscious eye towards maintaining its unique cultural heritage and grandeur.

We arrived last night after 17 hours of travel. Our flight out of Heathrow departed over an hour late, causing us to miss our connecting flight in Zagreb. Thus we had to spend over 7 hours in a tiny airport with one near empty cafe and an abysmally slow and obscenely overpriced Internet station with a confused keyboard. When we finally arrived in Dubrovnik it was nearly midnight and much to dark to enjoy what must have been a beautiful view driving into the old city. We checked into a lovely little apartment rented out by an eccentric but incredibly hospitable Croatian woman named Ana. I'm sure we will come to appreciate the privacy and convenience  of this cute little studio apartment with free wi-fi even more when we start staying in hostiles in Italy.

 After sleeping in this morning we strolled down to a local market for croissants and Nutella, the seemingly ubiquitous condiment in Europe. We spent the rest of the day wandering around the old city and taking in the sights. The shiny white limestone of the streets glistened in the light, enhancing the sensations that Dubrovnik is as much a museum as it is a functioning city. We posed for photos in front of the Orlando Column and Onofrio Fountain, meandered through Sponza Palace, sat for a few minutes in St. Ignatius Church and gaped at the enormous Pile Gate. Soon our exploring took us out of the city walls and we hiked along the surrounding hillsides, looking back repeatedly to see the Adriatic framing the silhouette of the old city. Even after years of being spoiled by the California coastline, it was a truly breathtaking view. Dubrovnik is a city that looks to stand in perpetuity and yet the scars of war glossed over by new buildings speaks to the transient nature of society. Once we had walked far enough to truly appreciate the panorama we sat on a little promontory and gazed over the hills speckled with majestic villas and a coastline sprinkled with islands. This combined with the harmonious blend of Renaissance architecture  and the warm tile of the Mediterranean make it easy to see why Dubrovnik was dubbed the "pearl of the Adriatic."

Christmas Plans

Oxford has a six week break from the beginning of December through the middle of January. Much as I would love to bask in the glory of California sunshine, the fact that I can fly to Madrid for roughly the same amount as it would cost me to take a train to Los Angeles, means that access to Europe is something I can’t afford to pass up. So my good friend Caroline and I will be cruising around Croatia and Italy for the first two months of December and I will be spending a week in Portugal in January. I probably won’t have much access to a computer so the blog will be silent for a time, followed by a flurry of posts when I return.

For those of you following along, here is the proposed itinerary:

Dec 3-6 Dubrovnik & Coast

Dec 6 Ferry to Bari           

Dec 7 Arrive in Bari and take a train to Naples

Dec 7-10 Naples/Pompeii/Sorrento

Dec 11-14 Rome/Vatican City

Dec 15- Pisa

We were supposed to go to Florence and Venice from the 15^th-19^th but now I need to return to Oxford for rowing training camp. Fortunately Florence isn’t going anywhere and while Venice may be sinking into the sea, hopefully it can hold it’s ground until I have time to travel again in the Spring.

I will be in Southern California from the 21^st-31^st for those of you who are around so shoot me an email if you want to find time to catch up. 

Bicycle Graveyard

The city of Oxford is filled with the decomposing carcasses of abandoned bicycles. The amputee victim missing a wheel, the cripple whose chain and derailleur are irreparably snarled, the scoliosis sufferer whose frame is warped beyond even the most modest functionality, the gimp with a flat tire and the blind bike who has been stripped of the legally required bike lights. Then there are the thousands of orphans who have long since been deserted by their owners. They sit abandoned in the bike racks, collecting dirt and rust as they are rudely jostled about by shiny new bicycles looking for safe purchase on the bike racks.

The new bikes resent the cast aways, as slots in the racks are at a premium in a town where dozens of bikes are stolen every week. One student allegedly conducted an experiment by repeatedly cutting the lock to his own bike in public to see if anyone would stop him. In 17 tries no one ever detained him. One gentleman merely looked at him and said, “hey, are you nicking that bike?!” and then continued past. But in the corrosive English rain the orphans waste away until they are so dilapidated, so rickety and so decrepit that even the thieves aren’t tempted and the police can’t be bothered to collect them. They merely proliferate, choking out the new bikes and slowly wasting away.